Page 3 of First Echo

brOOKE

I was walking toward the library to study when I got an email from Mr. Sinclair.

It struck me as odd to hear from him so soon, especially since I had only just left his classroom ten minutes ago.

My phone vibrated softly in my pocket, and for a moment I debated whether I should read the message right away or wait until I was settled in the library.

Curiosity got the better of me, so I tapped open the email while navigating the busy hallway.

I got an A on my test, which was pretty good, though I was almost too anxious to feel proud. Tests always made my stomach twist in knots. As I read Mr. Sinclair’s email, I felt a faint flicker of satisfaction flicker alongside uncertainty.

Hi Brooke, I was wondering if you had the time to tutor a fellow student. She is going to fail my class if she doesn’t get an A on the next test, and since you are my best student, I thought you were well qualified for the job. I look forward to hearing from you! Kind regards, Mr. Sinclair

I was not surprised he asked me. People often said I was a natural when it came to academics, and in Mr. Sinclair’s eyes I might have been the perfect candidate for tutoring.

I really was his best student. Still, I wondered who he was talking about.

My mind flicked through possibilities—perhaps someone like Nathan who usually fell asleep in class, or maybe Charlotte who rarely paid attention.

It was unusual for Mr. Sinclair to reach out so directly, so this situation must have been urgent.

I stopped by a row of lockers to quickly type my response.

Hi Mr. Sinclair, yes, that’s fine. I would appreciate it if you could tell them to meet me at the tutoring center after school so we can pick a date and time for our first session. Sincerely, Brooke Winters

With that handled, I slipped my phone back into my pocket and continued down the corridor.

The library doors stood at the far end, tall and made of thick glass.

A dull hush emanated from within, promising a haven where I could study undisturbed for a while.

Outside, a couple of students gathered in small groups, chatting in hushed voices about weekend plans, upcoming exams, or maybe the latest gossip.

I passed by them, feeling only a mild sense of detachment.

I was thinking about who I might end up tutoring.

My mind drifted between different scenarios, imagining how that first session might go.

I was usually patient but tutoring someone who barely tried could be frustrating.

I hoped this student would be at least somewhat motivated.

After classes ended for the day, I left the main school building and made my way toward the tutoring center.

It was a separate annex, right behind the gym, with large windows that often let in the late afternoon sunlight.

That day, the sky was overcast, and the light was gloomy, so there was only a faint glow in the windows as I approached.

Now and then, a stray gust of wind blew, causing the trees around me to rustle.

There was a sidewalk that led from the main entrance to the tutoring center, its concrete cracked in places from the changing seasons.

I was careful not to trip, especially since I had my eyes half-focused on the building and half on my phone notifications.

Through the window, I saw someone standing inside, a single silhouette against the fluorescent lights.

My vision was a little blurry from forgetting to put in my contacts, which really annoyed me since I was sure I’d set them out next to the sink the night before.

Stupid. I scolded myself for being so careless.

The figure in the window moved slightly, turning as if scanning the room.

I thought maybe they were tapping their foot; they had that impatient stance you notice from a distance.

The closer I got, the clearer they became, though the haze of my bad eyesight still blurred the details of their face.

A cold tingling crept over my skin, as if my intuition was warning me that something unexpected was waiting inside.

A tiny part of me hoped this was just some random student getting help in algebra, not the person I was supposed to meet.

Until I walked through the door.

Oh no. No no no. Madeline Hayes. My heart sank into my stomach.

That was the last name I wanted to hear.

It was enough to make my cheeks feel warm, a mix of shock and dread.

Not only was she infamous for being difficult, arrogant, and unbelievably popular, she was also the type of person I tried my best to avoid altogether.

Now I was apparently supposed to tutor her?

Madeline Hayes needed tutoring. From me? I felt a rush of conflicting emotions. Why me? Of course, I knew why it had to be me—Mr. Sinclair’s top student, the one who always showed up on time, who always studied. Still, it felt like some cruel cosmic joke.

She turned around at the sound of the door, her eyes raking over me as if she were evaluating whether I was worth her time. Her gaze made me feel both self-conscious and strangely indignant.

“Are you Brooke?” she asked, her polished voice laced with mild curiosity. She cocked her head slightly, allowing a few strands of her flawless blonde hair to fall across her shoulder.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

I had never spoken to her before. Not directly, anyway.

I’d heard plenty of stories about her, and I had seen her from a distance in class.

She was indeed quite pretty up close, an observation that twisted into annoyance because I knew how much power that beauty gave her in social circles.

She carried herself with an easy grace, as if the world existed solely to revolve around her.

For a few long seconds, we just stood there, staring. The silence between us grew awkward, so I tried to break it with the dumbest question possible.

“So, uhm… you need a chemistry tutor?” I asked.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Why else would I be at the tutor center?” she scoffed, her tone dismissive.

I laughed, although I had no idea why. There was nothing genuinely funny about the situation.

Maybe it was my nerves kicking in. She was so arrogant that I was at a loss for how to respond in a way that felt natural.

It was like trying to figure out the right key to unlock a door that refused to budge.

“Right. So when do you have time?” I managed to say, trying to at least sound businesslike, though my voice trembled slightly.

“Thursday at five. My house,” she said promptly, already turning on her heel as if our conversation was done.

And just like that, I was reminded of why I hated her so much.

She had not even asked if Thursday at five worked for me; she just assumed I would rearrange my life to accommodate her.

In reality, I had an after-school study group with some friends, but the bigger point was that she did not care.

Her eyes had barely flicked in my direction once she had given me the time, like I was just another person in her life who would do as she wanted.

She also didn’t bother telling me her address, because of course she knew that everyone knew where Madeline Hayes lived.

Her family’s estate was practically a local landmark.

And I could see she loved that about her life.

She thrived on it, like a gardener carefully cultivating the envy and admiration of others.

As I drove home, a thousand thoughts churned in my mind.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how infuriating she was.

My fingers tightened on the steering wheel whenever I replayed our brief conversation, especially the part where she basically commanded me to come to her house.

The headlights of passing cars flashed through my window, creating a dizzying array of light and shadow across my dashboard.

But it was that swirl of conflicting emotions—anger, annoyance, and a tiny flicker of something else—that truly unsettled me.

She made me feel nervous, though I was not sure why. Maybe it was the way she looked at me, or maybe it was her confidence. Or maybe it was something buried deeper, an unspoken tension or curiosity. I could not put a finger on it, but I did know one thing.

I was never going to let Madeline Hayes control me like another one of the brainless Barbie dolls she called friends.

With that promise burning in my thoughts, I pulled into my driveway.

The sky was streaked with pink and orange from the setting sun, which was almost pretty enough to soothe my irritation.

Almost. As I gathered my books and headed into my house, I could not help wondering if I was getting into something more complicated than just helping someone pass chemistry.

I trudged up the front steps, the familiar creak beneath my feet reminding me of home and routine.

In a small way, I was relieved to be back in my own space, a place where I was just Brooke, and not trapped in Madeline’s world of glamour.

Yet I also had to admit, deep down, that I was curious about how Thursday at five would unfold, whether I liked it or not.